


The Strength of Ten

by CenturiesPast



Category: The Order: 1886
Genre: AU, Angst, Blackwater malfunctions, Fluff, Gen, Grayson is injured on a misson, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Galahad, Mentors, Sebastian is Grayson's mentor, Violence, possible permanent injury, younger Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 12:32:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17580920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CenturiesPast/pseuds/CenturiesPast
Summary: A younger Grayson is injured during a mission, but his mentor, Sebastian, stays at his side. Hurt/Comfort





	The Strength of Ten

**Author's Note:**

> I SPELLED THEIR NAMES DIFFERENTLY AND IM TOO LAZY TO CHANGE IT SORRY
> 
> Abandon all irritation ye who enter here^^
> 
> P.S I don't own anything and when a tagged 'AU', I meant it. 
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!

“Proceed with caution,” Percival whispered to him as they advanced carefully through the mud-caked mines.

 

Greyson attempted to regulate his breathing because the temptation to hold it was astronomical. One wrong step and they would be finished. One mine would detonate several others at random intervals until there would be nothing left of them or this muddy infernal land.

 

Galahad fixed his gaze on the back of his mentor’s head, refusing to surrender to the urge to look down on the ground. He remembered one particular lesson from his training where he had been purposefully blindfolded during a sparring match. His youthful overzealous display had caused him to glance over his mentor’s instruction. He could not recall what it was exactly he had been ordered to do, but rest assured he would always be attentive to Percival’s instruction from that day forth. Sebastien had sensed his orgulous air and seemed to care more about that than his actual error to obey as instructed. They did not leave the sparring ring until he was sore, bruised, humbled, and could fight without his sense of sight alone.

 

Greyson’s ears pricked at the subtle vibration that emitted from beneath the mud next to his feet. He slowly shifted his body to walk in the other direction, away from the mine. He was extremely grateful for that particular physically restraining lesson because he was now accustomed to using more than one of his senses in the field.

 

They continued to tiptoe around potential death until the young knight caught a glimpse of something in the distant fog. He squinted his eyes, carefully inching closer to the physical form, and tightened his grip on his pistol.

 

“Percival-

 

“I see it.”

 

After a quick glance, Mallory gave no indication for them to halt, so he continued to advance towards the mysterious target with an unwavering aim. Perhaps it was a rebel sent to detonate the mines and finish them off? Greyson surrendered to the logic of the situation. It did not seem probable because this particular rebel alliance did not have a history of conducting suicide missions. Just who were they facing?

 

Galahad’s eyes widened as the mist shifted. Apprehension coiled around his stomach like a snake.

 

“A child,” he gasped, and instantly lowered his weapon.

 

The child couldn't have been more than ten years of age. The boy’s tattered clothing was caked in mud and blood cascaded down the lad’s face, probably from a head wound. His eyes were red-rimmed and wide with such fear that it made Greyson regret drawing his weapon in the first place.

 

“The boy must have survived the train accident and crash-landed here.”

 

Percival exhaled sharply from his nose, presumably from frustration. “Damn them…” He gave his surroundings another watchful sweep before he shifted his attention to the wounded boy.

 

“The boy is clearly in shock, which proves most advantageous.”

 

They were harsh words, but Greyson knew they were spoken with no trace of malice. Had the child not have been paralyzed with fear, he would have detonated the mines and ensured all their deaths along with failure to complete their mission.

 

“This changes nothing,” Percival said. “Galahad, you go after the boy and I’ll make my way towards Lord Geoffrey.”

 

“Acknowledged.”

 

Greyson moved slowly towards the boy with his hands raised in a gesture of peace. As he drew closer to the sympathetic sight, he couldn’t ignore the persistent nudge in the back of his mind. Despite what the elder knight had said, he couldn’t help but disagree. Perhaps the nature of their assignment did not change, but Greyson felt that his priorities had.

 

“Hello.” He said softly to the child while stepping over another mine.

 

The boy did not reply. He was shivering violently in his tattered clothing with his hands hugging himself. His chestnut eyes widened with fear when Galahad took one more step towards him, causing his heart to clench from regret. The young knight did not know why he was surprised when the boy looked absolutely petrified of him. He had practically aimed a pistol at his head.

 

“I’m not going to hurt you. What is your name, lad?”

 

The boy’s lips quivered as multiple tears streamed down his dirtied face. “I w-want my mama.”

 

“Alright.” Greyson coaxed gently. “I’ll take you to your mama.” He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to remain hopeful. The train had crashed- not exploded. Survivors were guaranteed...as well as casualties.

 

“My name is Sir Galahad.”

 

The boy’s head perked up slightly at the mention of his title. “A k-knight?”

 

Galahad smiled at his reaction. He sensed that the boy’s fear had been abandoned and it pleased him, even if it was only temporarily suspended. A surge of confidence washed over him and the possibility of gaining the boy’s trust seemed possible.

 

“That’s right. As a knight, I give you my word that you will be safe.”

 

Amidst the shivering, the trauma, and the gash on the side of his head, the boy surprised him with a small smile. The tender sight warmed his heart and he returned the small smile with a greater one. There was a common misconception amongst society that all children were weak creatures, yet this remarkable boy was able to smile despite the harsh circumstance life dealt him. Greyson also had been dealt his fair share, but he learned to shrug them off at a ripe age as he did so now.

 

The boy tried to take a step towards him.

 

“No!” Galahad exclaimed and lowered his voice when the child flinched. “Do not move,” he warned and took another careful step closer towards him. He was just out of arm's reach. He gazed intently into his eyes and forced himself to stay calm.

 

“If I am to get you to your mother, you must trust and listen to what I have to say. Do you trust me?”

 

The boy paused for a brief moment before nodding eagerly.

 

“Good lad.” He was finally at an arm’s length from the boy. “What is your name, lad?”

 

“J-Jeremy.” The boy answered through his chattering teeth.

 

“I’m going to pick you up, Jeremy. Remain absolutely still. Is that alright?”

 

Once Jeremy nodded Greyson placed his hands underneath the boy’s arms and scooped him to his chest. Jeremy tightly swathed his arms around his neck, no doubt grateful for a new source of warmth. Galahad began to rub the boy’s chilled back comfortingly.  

 

_“Galahad, what’s your status?”_

 

“The boy is safe-

 

The signal cut off abruptly. Greyson adjusted his hold on Jeremy and tried to reach Mallory again. He ignored the apprehension that seemed to take control of his entire body.

 

“Percival?”

 

He was met with the sound of his own heart beating anxiously and Jeremy’s erratic breathing.

 

“Sir Percival, can you-

 

_“Listen carefully.”_

 

He should have been relieved to hear back from his mentor, but the urgency in Mallory’s voice did nothing to disquiet his anxiety.

 

_“I’ve scouted two rebels scouring the perimeter. There may be more-_

 

“Oi!”

 

Greyson’s attention snapped to the source of the intrusion. His eyes caught the man’s uniform before he gazed up at a barrel of a rifle. Greyson inhaled sharply and settled his hand on the back of Jeremy’s head, inhibiting the boy from looking at the weapon.

 

_“Galahad? Galahad report!”_

 

“Well I’ll be damned,” the rebel laughed. “I’ve caught meself a knight.”

 

Percival went silent on the other side of the comm. No doubt he must have picked up the rebel’s voice. He estimated that Percival would continue to find Lord Geoffrey, but he couldn’t help but wonder if his mentor would find his way back to him. A small part of him hoped that he would because the intelligent boy in his arms sensed what was happening and began to tremble uncontrollably.

 

He needed backup and he needed it now.

 

“Please.” Greyson held up one hand and carried Jeremy with the other. “I have a child with me. He’s innocent-

 

“Save it!” The rebel barked.

 

His face distorted into an ugly, bitter expression and his eyes were filled with unbridled rage. Greyson recognized merciless eyes when he saw them. At that moment, he knew they would not be spared.

 

“You lot of knights only care about the innocent as soon as your sodding lives are at risk! You sit in your cushy little towers an’ prance around the whole of England, sippin’ on your little black potion to cure your own asses while hundreds of _innocents_ die from disease an’ starvation. You call that mercy?”

 

“You rebels crash a train filled with hundreds of innocent civilians and call it salvation?”

 

The rebel’s glare darkened.

 

The second the words were out of his mouth, Greyson regretted them. He knowingly fueled the fire that can set them aflame at any moment. The young knight realized that his communicator was still on and resisted the urge to groan. He would be reprimanded for his blunder later- that was _if_ they survived.

 

“You self-righteous bastard,” he spat. “I maybe be wastin’ my breath, but I know me bullets won’t be put to waste.”

 

As he cocked the rifle, Galahad spun around to shield the boy from his aim. He stood his ground and braced himself for the impact, and when it came, Galahad shut his eyes and gave out a guttural cry as the bullet lodged itself into his shoulder. Jeremy began to cry, tightening his arms around his neck, and Greyson couldn’t blame the boy.

 

When he reopened his eyes, he saw Percival in the distance holding a firearm of his own while aiming it at the rebel.

 

_He stayed…_

 

Greyson would sigh out of relief and quite possibly smile at his mentor’s return if he wasn’t in immense pain. It wasn’t a question of Percival’s loyalty, for he was fiercely loyal, but he was also dutiful and with duty came priorities. Greyson sometimes had an inkling he was not at the top of his mentor’s list, but he wouldn’t ever dare make Sebastien choose between him and an exigent assignment. Percival chose for himself and that secretly pleased Greyson to no end, even though his vow to the Order told him it should not have.

 

As Percival shot the rebel, the rebel fired one last time. Galahad twisted his body once more in an attempt to shield the child but failed. The bullet grazed Jeremy’s neck and he gave out a painful wail beside Greyson’s ear. The young knight’s hand clutched the side of the boy’s neck in an attempt to stem the bleeding, but not before his heart could crash into rib cage from what he had witnessed next.

 

“Oh God,” Galahad whispered.

 

The rebel gave out a strained, wet cough before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body tipped forward to land directly onto the muddied mine-trap. The earth rumbled beneath his feet and Percival’s shouting along with Jeremy’s crying was drowned by the sound of exploding mines that filled the air behind him.

 

Greyson gritted his teeth at the erupting pain in his shoulder and began to sprint forward as fast as his legs could take him. He focused his gaze ahead and dared not look back or beside him for his mentor. He could see Percival sprinting in the distance, but only peripherally.

 

As soon as he saw the damaged train, Greyson sprinted even faster, pushing his body while also ignoring its demands for him to stop. He breathed heavily and tightened his hold on the screaming boy in his arms, even though doing so intensified the pain in his shoulder.

 

A mine exploded behind him, the pressure of the blast knocking them forward. Greyson shouted as his body was propelled through the air rapidly and his world blackened for a moment when they were violently slammed onto the ground.

 

His vision blurred as his jostled shoulder burned from the impact, but when his eyes settled onto the pale, still figure of the boy, panic started to bubble in his throat. He reached for the vial around his neck and firmly grasped it with one hand. He hissed and breathed heavily as he used his good arm to crawl towards Jeremy, his feet helping him to push his body forward.

 

“No, no..please.”

 

He popped open the cap and watched the Blackwater flow into the boy’s mouth as a few black droplets cascaded down the sides of his face. He held the boy’s head and watched him manage a weak gulp before sparing one cough.

 

Galahad tried to bring the vial towards his mouth before it was violently kicked out of his grasp and onto the ground. He watched the precious droplets soak the earth, but before he could reach for it, a heavy boot kicked the wind out of his lungs and turned him onto his back. The boot suddenly crunched down on his wounded shoulder causing Galahad to howl with pain.

 

The faces of his assailants were blurred, but he guessed they would be smiling sinisterly. He tried reaching sluggishly for his communicator, but the rebel’s foot moved to pin his hand to his chest. He heard a _click_ and Greyson found himself at the mercy of yet another gun, struggling to breathe, and couldn’t help but wonder how many times in one day could a man stare up at death.

 

He closed his eyes. He heard two gunshots slice through the air and he couldn’t help but flinch violently before the two bodies thudded to the ground. He heard mumbling of voices and felt two rough hands gently search his person before settling one hand on the back of his neck and lifted his head off the ground.

 

He fought sluggishly from the rebel’s stronghold and fought harder when he felt something being poured into his mouth.

 

_Poison!_

 

He coughed for all he was worth, angering his assailant, causing them to tighten their hold on his jaw. More poison was poured into his mouth, but before he could cough or spit it out, a gloved hand closed over his lips and pinched his nose. Greyson bucked his body violently when his air was cut off, and let out a muffled scream when it burned his wounded shoulder.

 

It seemed he had a choice to make. Die from suffocation or die from poisoning. However, the immediate need to breathe built and built, and when his lungs could not take the strain any longer, Galahad picked his poison and swallowed whatever the hell was given to him.

 

The gloved hand finally let up and his body heaved as he sucked in as much air as he could muster. Greyson’s vision greyed more and more each time he blinked. Before his world blackened, he thought of the boy’s small smile and Sebastien’s eyes every time they crinkled when he was pleased. It seemed like his entire soul wished them well with all his might before he completely surrendered to the pain.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Greyson’s eyelids fluttered and he opened them slightly, taking in the brightly lit white walls of the hospital room. Judging by the vibrancy of the unadulterated light as it illumined everything in the sterile room, he guessed that it was morning. He scanned his surroundings as his eyes almost immediately settled on the chair that was pulled beside him. He took in the slightly sunken seat which indicated to him that he had been visited many times.

 

He found the simple task of sitting up alarmingly difficult because of his numb arm which was probably due to some sort of drug they administered, but it still seemed strange to him that his _whole_ arm was numb. It was then his grogginess began to fade and the memories from his mission barged into his skull. The boy...Jeremy. Galahad sighed as he remembered his small smile, those large, young eyes that had already seen the dark aspects of fate, and his still, limp body when he fed him Blackwater.

 

A pang of heavy, burdensome guilt weighed down his heart like an anchor as it was also stabbed with the fragments of his probable failure. What if he had administered the Blackwater too late? Greyson shielded his eyes from the light with his healthy arm. He felt his blood grow hot. What kind of a bloody knight was he if he couldn't even save an innocent child?

 

_“I w-want my Mama!”_

 

“He was just a boy,” he cried out in the empty room. His throat welled up with emotion he couldn’t quite swallow down. “Just a child…”

 

The door opened to reveal a lean figure, dressed professionally in a pristine uniform of a physician. He greeted Greyson with a smile and picked up the glass of water that was on a small table in front of his bed.

 

“Good morning, Sir Galahad. My name is Dr. Helsing. I am the chief physician of the Order’s medical branch.”

 

His eyes widened at his title, noting his mild German accent. The only signs of age Dr. Helsing exhibited was the slight grey in his chestnut colored beard and in his temples. He reckoned the man must have taken a dosage of Blackwater every other week because of his general youthful appearance despite the time-consuming title he harbored. He took the glass of water extended to him.

 

“Thank you.” He started to hungrily gulp down the water but slowed down when the doctor gently instructed him to do so.

 

Dr. Helsing took the emptied glass and set it back down on the table. Greyson sensed something was wrong, not because of the man’s impeccable bedside manner, but his behavior begged the question: why was the head physician of one of the most ancient, powerful orders playing nurse? Surely he had more pressing medical affairs to tend to?

 

Greyson managed to reciprocate the physician’s kindness with a weak smile. Having no way of forming his question politely, he chose to keep silent.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“My arm feels numb,” he admitted truthfully,” and I am a bit bewildered.”

 

“Well, yes, that is to be expected after post-surgery.”

 

_Surgery?_

 

“I-I don’t understand.”

 

Helsing frowned slightly. “You had a mild concussion and sustained a gunshot wound in your right shoulder. Do you not remember?”

 

Of course, he remembered. Forgetting the amount of pain the rebel’s had afflicted upon him was a luxury he could not afford. He wished he could forget the smell of blood, smoke, and mud lingering in the misty air, Jeremy’s smile, the rebel’s venomous gaze, the roaring of several deafening explosions, and the boy’s limp body-

 

“Yes.” He said lowly. His knuckles clenched and turned as white as the hospital walls while he waited for the phantom senses to dissipate.

 

Dr. Helsing’s eyes narrowed as he studied his obviously disturbed patient. Whatever the physician was thinking, he made no effort to act upon it, and for that Greyson was thankful. As he watched the other man scribble something into his clipboard, Galahad attempted to loosen the fist that tightly coiled around his stomach.

 

The door swiftly opened, and his eyes welcomed in the sight of Percival who thankfully appeared to have no indication of any scratch on his armored frame. When their gazes met, Sebastien’s eyes crinkled and glimmered as they did when he was pleased and his mouth settled into a small smile. He dipped his head in acknowledgment of the doctor before returning his attention back to him.

 

“I see you have finally decided to join the land of the living.”

 

Greyson snorted. “It feels like I’ve only gotten one foot through the door.”

 

“Why don’t you sit, Sir Percival?” Dr. Helsing invited. “Galahad will certainly have questions regarding beyond his physical condition.”

 

Percival’s expression sobered. “Hm. Yes, you’re quite right, but I prefer to stand. Forgive my intrusion.”

 

Dr. Helsing shook his head. “No matter.” He cleared his throat, and Greyson prepared himself for the verdict.

 

“The bullet was lodged in your shoulder and had to be surgically removed. Due to the amount of trauma inflicted to the brachial plexus..” he sneaked a glance at Percival which unsettled Greyson further,”..it is paralyzed.”

 

Silence blared in the room as he tried to comprehend what he had been told. Greyson instinctively flexed his fingers and curled his right hand into a fist when he could not do so with his other arm. Dr. Helsing noticed this movement and frowned.

 

“I do not recommend conducting any experiments now or in the future until you have received proper physical therapy.”

 

“Therapy?” Greyson repeated. “I do not understand this. Why won’t you administer me some Blackwater? Surely that would heal my arm?”

 

Helsing’s eyes did not meet his and he shook his head. Sebastien’s features remained as collected and as rigid as stone. Greyson’s heart plummeted.

 

“I’m afraid we’ve already tried that possibility but to no avail. When the Blackwater was administered, it had a neutral effect on your system almost as if the body was programmed to have such a reaction. I conclude whatever entered your bloodstream caused this effect, and I believe the forensics team is studying the bullet as we speak.”

 

Greyson stared down at his lap in utter bafflement. Almost his entire right arm felt numb, and he was glad for the shock because he knew that panic would soon take its place. It seemed the other two men waited for some sort of response or reaction, but they waited in vain. He merely gazed down at his limp limb. He knew the verdict, he heard it, but he had yet to fathom the reality of his predicament.

 

He felt the weight of Sebastien’s gaze on him. Helsing had turned to the elder knight to whisper something before leaving, but Greyson could not bring himself to hear. He heard the sound of a door closing, and for the first time in his life, Greyson wished Sebastien would leave as well and spare him the shame he perhaps deserved to feel.

 

Mallory took his seat beside the younger man and something told Greyson that it wasn’t Sebastien’s first visit from the way he crossed one leg over the other habitually. He wondered just how many visitations he was honored with, then concluded when the reality of this situation hit him at full speed that he did not deserve any at all because of his failure.

 

He failed Sebastien, he failed his Order, he failed Jeremy, and he had failed himself. Greyson glanced down at his useless arm. He now understood the cost of his failure and his karma had paid in full.

 

“Greyson.”

 

He closed his eyes and slumped back on the bed, hissing when his head met the headboard. Sebastien raised a brow.

 

“By all means, please injure yourself further.”

 

 _As if it would matter now._ How those words wanted to leave his lips, but it would only succeed in angering his visitor, followed by a grueling inquisition. He kept silent. God above knew he should have kept silent in the minefield for the sake of that little boy. How was it that he could shut his mouth now? Was he really that prideful that he had to risk the life of an innocent child in order to win a worthless verbal battle with a rebel?

 

“Dwelling on what has passed will not serve you now.”

 

He risked glancing into the other man’s light eyes and expected to find disappointment and judgment, but he found compassion instead. He noted the dark discoloration under Sebastien’s eyes and he sincerely hoped that he was not the reason they were there. Greyson tore his gaze away.

 

“How can I?” He asked dejectedly. “The past has bled into the present.”

 

“Then focus on the future.”

 

He exhaled in frustration and tried not to focus on his numb arm, nor the fact that the black potion of immortality itself could not heal him.

 

“And which fact of the future shall I focus on? My handicapping? The end of my knighthood-

 

“That you’re alive.” Sebastien all but growled. “And I do not recall Helsing having mentioned the permanence of your injury. He said you will undergo physical therapy. You are deliberately choosing to _brood_ over an outcome that has not been settled as of yet.”

 

Greyson felt his jaw clench in annoyance at the sharp jibe. “That is hardly just.”

 

Percival’s voice and gaze hardened. “Your resignation of mental discipline is hardly just, yes. I am in agreement.”

 

He would scoff curtly if he did not immensely respect the man. Why was he keeping silent about his opinion and his deeds? Perhaps he was deserving of Sebastien’s wrath.

 

“I cannot resign from something I do not possess.”

 

“What?” Sebastien asked impatiently.

 

Greyson shrugged his healthy shoulder in a gesture of nonchalance, knowing it would irk the other knight. He pressed on. “It seems I lack the mental fortitude you so faithfully entrust me to have.”

 

Irk it did. Mallory furrowed his brow and narrowed his sharp eyes. Disappointment laced his words. “I must confess, I did not expect to witness such behavior from you.”

 

Greyson could not feel in the sarcasm that fought its way out. “And how would you have me behave?”

 

“With such behavior only befitting of a knight.” He retorted sharply.

 

Sebastien might as well have poured acid into his ears. He sucked in a harsh breath and tried to school his features in an effort to mask the hurt, but to no avail. Percival’s words struck a cord so fragile within him, Greyson feared it might have snapped. He swallowed the bitter truth that was poured down his throat, knowing that he’d have to stomach it for as long as he lived.

 

“Very well, Sir.” He purposely chose the formal title in an effort to encourage the man to leave. “I’ll spare you the effort of wasting your time. Whatever your expectations may be, you won’t find them fulfilled here.”

 

He did not expect Sebastien to sigh in what Greyson recognized as regret, nor did he expect the man to lean forward with his head slightly bowed. He ran a tired hand over his usually neatly trimmed beard.

 

“It seems there are many things I have yet to learn.” He admitted after a moment of thought. “Such as knowing the appropriate time to discuss the behaviors of duty.”

 

He was not accustomed to hearing Sebastien apologize for delivering a truthful verdict at a given time or witnessing him appear so vulnerable (as vulnerable as a man of his iron strength and honor could appear to be). There were many people, some even in their Order, who would pay a handsome sum to see him in such a state let alone hear this man apologize, but Sebastien somehow looked even more exhausted after his confession which did not settle Greyson by any means.

 

“It’s in the past,” Greyson assured.

 

Sebastien shook his head. “No. I have failed to acknowledge that you are in need of a friend and not a judge. You already have the latter.”

 

Greyson’s brows furrowed quizzically.

 

Sebastien indulged him further by pointing to his temple. “There already resides a supreme judge within you.”

 

His eyes widened once he understood. He nodded wearily. There indeed resided a supreme judge and executioner beneath his cranium. Unfortunately, the sentence his mind passed was one of resignation, failure, and hopelessness.

 

“A trait we share,” Greyson muttered.

 

Sebastien hummed in agreement.

 

He heard a knock before Alastair entered the room. The commander’s eyes immediately fell upon Greyson’s limp arm and he smiled with a sort pity that made Greyson sick. Percival rose to greet him with a slight bow and a short nod.

 

“Alastair.”

 

“Good morning Sir Percival.” His cool eyes glanced between the two of them. “I hope I am not interrupting something. I merely came to pay my respects.”

 

A part of Greyson wanted to scoff at the man’s choice of words. Alastair made it seem like he was dead. However, he despondently realized that apart of him _had_ died. Perhaps it was when Dr. Helsing had practically told him his knighthood was over. Perhaps it was when he gazed at the innocent, lifeless face of a boy no older than ten.

 

“-ahad?”

 

“Greyson,” Percival called.

 

His sharp voice cut through his reverie and Greyson adjusted his focus on the two men staring at him. He cleared his throat.

 

“Yes?”

 

Alastair eyed him as if he’d grown another head, but Sebastien merely studied him with a kind of hard gaze that told him that Mallory knew him better than himself.

 

“I merely wanted to have a word with you,” Alastair said. “In private.”

 

Greyson was careful enough to appear outwardly neutral, but couldn’t help but inwardly feel defensive and reactive. What he truly desired to state was that anything he had to say to him, Sebastien could hear of it as well, but he dismissed this rash reaction within him. He glanced at Sebastien and took in his overly rigid posture and the way his mouth set into a firm line, and he knew that the other man was not pleased with Alastair’s decision as well, but he dismissed himself nonetheless.

 

Alastair watched Sebastien close the door before he settled himself in his seat where he threw one leg over the other and laced his fingers over his abdomen. He smiled sympathetically, and Greyson instantly missed his friend’s presence. He’d rather have Sebastien’s judgments than Alastair’s sympathies.

 

“I know this may be a difficult situation for you, but I came to shed some light on this dark predicament.”

 

Greyson ignored the annoyance that flared within him and plastered a small smile on his face. “By all means,” he welcomed, “please _enlighten_ me.”

 

If Alastair had grasped the hidden subtext buried deeply in his words, he did not show it. Rather, he smiled as a man smiles when he has won a convoluted game of poker.

 

“The council held a meeting during your convalescence. When word had reached the council room that the rebels have concocted an antidote to Blackwater, Knights and Lords alike began to panic.”

 

Greyson could almost imagine the chaotic scene as if he’d been there himself. The room would be filled with the confused murmurs of fearful men, regardless of their rank- all except one. He was aware that Percival had trained himself as if he’d never been supported by the cushion of immortality. He would be the one stoic face in a sea of frantic faces. He could almost hear the pounding of the Lord Chancellor's gavel as he demanded order.

 

He affected a tone of voice one uses when recollecting the past misdeeds of children. “Alas, who could blame them when security such as that is threatened? Man would rather go insane than to acknowledge his own mortality.”

 

He had no doubt that Alastair was just as surprised, if not terrified, like the rest of men in the council chamber. He did not know why Alistair's air of superiority grated his nerves. Greyson considered himself to have quite the tolerance for a myriad of personalities, but at that moment, his tolerance for everything in the world had worn thin.

 

“Nevertheless, there need not be for such hysteria.” Alistair grinned and leaned forward. “Are you aware of the top forensics specialists Pernelle and Nicholas Flamel?”

 

“Of course.” The married couple was a notoriously fierce team in the forensics department of The Order.

 

“I won’t bore you with the details of how they did it, but they have found a way to modify the Blackwater’s DNA as we speak. It’s all thanks to you.”

 

This was good news. Not only was long life and health insured once again, but what was most important was that the rebels had lost their smoking gun. Since the Flamels had augmented the Blackwater’s DNA, perhaps it’s healing powers could restore the damage that had been done to his arm. That is if his body would not still reject the Blackwater. His chance at full recovery still seemed thin because it was fully dependant on an uncertainty. He was not sure. He was not guaranteed full recovery. Besides, what will he do until then? Rot in this bed?

 

“This is splendid news,” Greyson admitted, “but there is no need to thank me. You can thank the rebels,” he joked bitterly as he tried not to focus on his arm for the thousandth time that morning.

 

“Not at all,” he insisted. “If that bullet hadn’t still have been in your shoulder, this fortuitous, albeit necessary, alteration of the Blackwater wouldn’t have happened.” Here, Alastair’s smile dropped momentarily after a thoughtful pause. “It is a shame about your arm, Greyson, and of course that boy, but you can rest easy knowing that you’ve saved our Order from a most egregious blow.”

 

Greyson gritted his teeth and fisted a handful of the bed sheet. His heart contracted painfully at the mention of Jeremy, and his boiling blood bubbled with unbridled rage. One does not simply tell a sacrificial lamb it was better for its blood to have spilled than for it to have lived healthily in peace. It was precisely for Izzie’s sake that he swore his anger to secrecy in order to prevent himself from unleashing his wrath upon Alastair- physically handicapped or not.

 

“Thank you, Galahad for your sacrifice. We are all grateful.”

 

He stood on his feet and extended a hand. Whether it was done so cruelly or not, Greyson did not know. It didn’t matter because he refused to shake his hand. He kept his eyes directly trained on the door, eagerly waiting for Sebastien to return.

 

Alastair dropped his hand and frowned, his cold eyes searching Greyson’s face for the meaning behind his purposeful action. When he realized he would receive no answers, he moved his way to the door, but his hand stilled on the knob.

 

“Isabeau sends her love.” He abruptly opened the door and departed.

 

Sebastien entered, glancing at Alastair’s brisk walk as he exited. He raised a brow at the departure and closed the door behind him. He was going to make his way towards his seat but halted when his eyes met Greyson’s pale complexion.  

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“Perfectly fine,” Greyson spat.

 

Sebastien glared at him. “Do not try my patience, Greyson. What did he say?” He demanded.

 

“Alastair thanked me for having been shot because it perfected the Blackwater. Never mind the innocent child who's been murdered in the process of saving everyone’s arse!”

 

“Murdered?” He repeated. “The child’s been hospitalized.”

 

“What?” Greyson breathed.  

 

His eyes darkened. “Alastair informed you that the boy had been murdered?”

 

“No, but  I…” He remembered feeding the lad his supply of Blackwater, but he still hadn’t stirred. Besides, he was wounded by the same bullet that rendered its healing effects neutral. And yet…

 

“He’s alive?” He whispered, tears threatening to fill his grey eyes.

 

“He’s recovering,” Sebastien confirmed, choosing to take his seat once more. “His mother, Julianna, is with him. She had visited you several times when I was detained.”

 

Why would the mother of a child he failed to protect visit him?

 

“Why on earth would she?”

 

Sebastian nodded as if confirming something to himself. “According to her, she wanted to visit the courageous knight who saved her child.”

 

Greyson couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was so absurd, he found it humorous.

 

“ _Saved_ her child?” His chuckle sounded hallowed. “I endangered him by choosing to mince words with a rebel rather than look after him.”

 

Percival gave him a disapproving glare. “While you had superfluously indulged the rebel, you nevertheless could not prevent his actions.”

He shook his head. His friend failed to understand the myriad of actions he could have taken to prevent this. He could have run while he and the boy still had their health, he could have had his weapon ready at his disposal, he-

 

“Although changing the past is impossible, recovering from it is not.”

 

“It isn’t only about my arm, Sebastien.” His words tasted like lies on his tongue. His own ears did not believe him let alone the man sitting beside him. Percival was not fooled, and that much was evident in his softened, compassionate gaze which teased Greyson into thinking he could possibly understand what this was like.

 

Sebastien placed his callused hand over his injured one.

 

Greyson stared shockingly down at both of their hands as he felt nothing. His mind was telling him that he is supposed to be feeling something, it was telling him that Sebastien’s palm was supposed to feel warm and weathered against his paler hand, but there it was, laying limply and numbly on the bed. Whatever little resolve Greyson possessed, it shattered.

 

He sucked in a harsh breath as tears welled in his eyes. “I thought the boy was dead.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I-I tried to save him.”

 

“I understand,” Sebastien said.

 

“Sebastien.” The panic started to rise like bile in his throat. “Sebastien, I cannot feel my arm.”

 

At this, Mallory said nothing but looked at him with eyes that indicated to him that it was only a matter of time before Greyson truly reacted to this physical trauma. Sebastien’s mouth set into a grim line and his eyes softened their gaze as he inched closer.

 

“I cannot feel my arm!” Greyson cried as he shut his eyes tightly in an effort to prevent any tears from releasing.

 

A warm hand settled on the back of his neck and drew him close enough to be supported against a strong, lean frame. Sebastien tucked his chin over Greyson’s head and swathed his arm over the younger knight’s shoulders carefully.

 

But he would no longer remain a knight because of this injury. He could not properly shoot and reload a weapon let alone defend anyone in this state. He would be Galahad no more. He would miss the field. He would miss sparring with Percival and Izzie. They would have other assignments and soon he would be reduced to a single memory in their past. His friends would not wait for him, and he would not expect them to. This thought alone filled him with much more despair.

 

Percival’s soft beard tickled his forehead and his chest rumbled as he spoke. “There are still alternatives you have yet to explore, Greyson. You must bear that in mind.”

 

“But it’s not a guarantee,” he mumbled beside his neck.

 

“Few things are,” Sebastien replied. He shifted their position in order to take a firm hold of Greyson’s chin in one hand. His grey and hazel eyes locked with Greyson’s red-rimmed ones. “You protected that child with your life despite what the thoughts you are currently harboring tell you. I do not think any less of you.”

 

Greyson sighed with what he thought was relief and let his weary head slump back on Sebastien’s shoulder. They spoke of nothing for the remainder of that morning. Sebastien had no more words for him, but Greyson felt that nothing else needed to be said that wasn’t mentioned already. They sat together in companionable silence, soaking in the morning sun. Sebastien stayed with him long after his silent tears had dried.

 

If such a noble, good, and disciplined man with such high esteem of honor believed that he had done no wrong, then maybe Greyson could allow himself to be comforted. Perhaps he may even come to forgive himself and make peace with what has happened, but for now, he focused on the rise and fall of Percival’s chest and the gentle carding of the hand through his hair.

 

**.**

**.**

**.**

 

 Greyson did not remember falling asleep when he groggily opened his eyes. He ran a hand over his face and felt that something was terribly wrong when he wanted to sit up again, but a quick glance down to his right arm gave him the reminder he thought he wanted. He forced himself to tear his gaze away from his arm and stare at the door in front of his bed. The sun had bathed the room in a light pink glow and he reckoned that the room would darken significantly in an hour.

 

He glanced to the chair beside him half expecting to see Sebastien but was greeted by a whole new visitor. A beautiful visitor. She met his gaze and her calm, cerulean eyes twinkled with excitement.

 

“Good evening, Sir Galahad.”

 

Her voice sounded as gentle as a harp and felt like the cool breeze at the start of spring. She smiled warmly at him and inched forward to the edge of the chair. He cleared his throat.

 

“Um, good evening m’lady.”

 

“Forgive me,” she spoke and folded her hands over her lap. “It seems I am overcome with such gratitude that I have forgotten to introduce myself. My name is Julianna.”

 

 _Julianna._ He remembered Percival mentioning that name until it dawned upon him that he was gazing into the eyes of none other than Jeremy’s mother. He resisted the urge to look away in shame.

 

“Greyson,” he offered to her.

 

Her eyes seemed to twinkle once more and she smiled again. He knew that she was older than him not because of her gentle features, but because of the streak of grey in her hair that betrayed her overall youthful appearance. She was the kind of woman he fantasized having as a mother when he was a child.

 

“I wanted to thank you, Greyson, for protecting my son with all your might.”

 

Greyson tried to quell the tidal wave of blame and guilt his mind hurled at him. He smiled at her briefly before schooling his features.

 

“How is he?” He dared to ask.

 

The lovely upturned corners of her lips sank as her eyes glanced down at her lap. In that moment, it was as if a hand clasped around his throat, prohibiting him from breathing. She clenched her hands in what he recognized as agitation.

 

“He is recovering,” she said, still avoiding his gaze. “Jeremy has lost plenty of blood, but I’ve been told that he’s been recovering well.”

 

“I am so sorry.”

 

The apology was out of his mouth before he even had a chance to hesitate. Julianna lifted her head and gazed at him with such sadness and kindness, he feared it would break him. He could tell that her eyes were a bit swollen from all the crying she must have been doing.

 

“Yes well… you have done more than what any mother could have asked for.”

 

He shook his head. “If I had done enough, your son would not have to be here in the hospital.”

 

She blinked owlishly at him for a moment before lightly furrowing her brows.

 

“I was told you were the gallant knight that carried my son through a minefield, despite having been wounded. Am I mistaken?”

 

“No, no I-

 

“Then I am forever in your debt.”

 

He studied her to see if there was any trace of hidden resentment or sarcasm in her tone but shockingly found none.

 

“You’re..not angry?”

 

“Angry?” She softly repeated. “No. I am, however, deeply sorry about your loss.”

 

His mouth set in a firm line and he felt a mental kick from Percival every time he felt the slightest urge to feel sorry for himself. She surprised him by having tears in her eyes just shy from spilling. It made his heart churn.

 

“Please Lady Julianna. I beg you not to shed any tears on my behalf. I’ll...manage.”

 

“I’m sure you will,” Julianna spoke with a knowing that almost made it seem certain. She took a handkerchief that was folded under her sleeve and dabbed it under her wet eyes. “Your friend will certainly see to it.”

 

Greyson raised a brow. “My friend?”

 

“I believe his name was Sebastien.”

 

“Ah. Yes. Yes, he will. Whether I have any say in it or not.”

 

She chuckled softly and it sounded mellifluous to his ears. He grinned in having made her shift her mood into a more positive one.

 

“He is very kind.”

 

His brows shot up in surprise. People would rarely categorize Sebastien’s stern glare, dry wit, and stubborn bluntness as _kind._ Greyson almost wanted to ask her if she had the right Sebastien, but he took in her graceful beauty and her gentle manner and asked himself who could not treat such a woman with kindness? It seems she was beautiful outwardly and inwardly enough to tempt Percival, and that was a bet he was willing to wager his life on.

 

“He cares deeply for you.” She said with an observant gaze.

 

He wondered how many more times she would surprise him, and pondered what Mallory might have spoken with her or what she might have seen to cause her to say such a thing. “Yes, I know. I am extremely fortunate to have him as a friend.”

 

“He feels the same way about you.”

 

He raised a brow again. “Sebastien said that?”

 

“More through his actions than his words.”

 

That _did_ sound like the Sebastien he knew. She rose from her seat and stepped beside his bed.

 

“I have to return now.” She said, and he couldn’t stop himself from frowning at losing her delightful company. She surprised him for the final time that day by raising her soft hand to the side of his face, gently caressing his unshaven cheek. “Thank you, Greyson. You have a pure heart.”  

 

His eyes widened and he stared at her as Julianna made her departure, but not after giving him one last smile before shutting the door.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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